Splitting Hairs
by AshRB
Summary: Allen gets stuck in a creative rut and no matter what he tries, he just can't seem to get out of it! Will he snap out of it in time for an important job? Oneshot. Secret Santa gift for Winter Oak.


_Author's Note: A very Merry Christmas to the wonderful Winter Oak! I had a pretty rough December, so this may not be the best story ever written, but I hope it brings you some enjoyment nonetheless! :D _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon. (I know I'm probably the only person that writes these anymore, but old habits die hard! XD)_

**Splitting Hairs**

Allen barely winced as the cold hair gel sent little needles of pain throughout his hand. The gel came in an metalic container. Normally this wasn't a problem, but it was wintertime and the salon didn't exactly have the best heater, so metal items and the hairdresser weren't on the best of terms at the moment. It was a small problem, however, so it barely even registered in Allen's mind as he continued to style Hart's hair.

"Is the gel really necessary?" Hart asked, his voice jittery with nervous energy.

"If you want to get the appropriate lift to complement your facial features, yes," Allen answered without skipping a beat. He took out a comb and began to work on the farmer's stubborn cowlick.

The salon was slightly busier than usual that day, what with the Starry Night festival coming up. It was the one time of year that people even TRIED to look remotely nice in Allen's opinion. People wanted to look good for their sweethearts, or for people they wished to become their sweethearts. Allen even had two customers at the moment, which was an unprecedented amount. He turned his head to check on Felicity. She was sitting underneath the hairdryer, her hair up in curlers and her nose deep into a _Castanet Couture_ magazine. It still had a long way to go before it would be completely dry.

"Oh, I hope she says yes!" Hart sighed. The "yes" came out as barely more than a squeak.

Allen smiled. He didn't even need to ask who "she" was.

"So, you're finally getting around to asking Tina out?" he smirked.

Hart gulped. "Is my crush on her THAT obvious?"

It was as obvious as the sun in the sky. The entire village had been wondering when the farmer would confess his feelings to the newspaper delivery girl for about two seasons. Everyone could plainly see the looks of adoration he always gave to her and could hear the stutters that inflicted him whenever she was around. Everyone, except for Tina herself, of course.

To save Hart the embarrassment of knowing that the entire town knew his "secret," Allen simply said, "_Everything _is obvious to me, my friend."

"Your humility continues to astound me, Allen," Hart teased.

"Hey, it's a tough job being this amazing, but somebody has to do it."

Hart laughed, "Yeah, whatever, dude!"

Allen grabbed his scissors and began working on Hart's bangs. Little did the farmer know he had no reason to be nervous. Tina was just as smitten with him as he was with her. She had come to the salon just the day before in a nervous twitter herself. Allen had to hear about how nice Hart was, how handsome he was, how smart… He didn't mind, of course. Being a confident came with being a hairstylist, after all. People liked to trust their stylists with more than just their hair for whatever reason. Allen had dirt on the whole village, not that he would ever use it. He had told Tina that she had nothing to worry about and that Hart would surely ask her to the Starry Night Festival and that her new hairstyle would defiantly catch his eye.

"So what do you think of Tina's new hairstyle?" Allen casually asked as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Tina has a new hairstyle?" Hart was confused.

"Well, gee. It's nice to know that my art goes underappreciated."

"I'm just joshing you, dude. It looks nice." Hart began to blush, "She always looks nice…"

Allen pulled out a mirror and handed it to his customer. "I'm all finished."

Hart admired his reflection for a bit, "Man, I look slick! Thanks Allen."

"It's what I do. Now, that will be 3,000G if you please."

After looking through his rucksack for a bit, Hart pulled out the required money and handed it to Allen.

"Don't be nervous, Hart. Just hurry up and ask her now. I promise everything will be fine," Allen said as he put the money in his register.

"Thanks, dude," the farmer opened up the door and prepared to step out into the snow, "See you later!"

"Bye."

Allen finished up Felicity's hair and soon the salon was empty again. He sat down behind his desk and took out some paper and a pencil. It was time to brainstorm new hairstyles like he always did between customers. Taking hold of the pencil, he doodled in the paper's margins as he waited for his ideas to flow smoothly as they always did. Several minutes passed and Allen was left staring at an empty white space, save for a few curly cues along the sides. It was odd. Usually he would have at least a rough sketch by that point. A few more minutes passed and he still had nothing.

It wasn't for lack of inspiration. A true artist like himself could make a muse out of anything. Allen looked out his window and saw icicles hanging down like triangular bangs above his windowsill. He saw a large snowdrift curled up like one large ringlet up against the doctor's office. Everywhere he looked he saw things that could be used in a hairstyle. He just felt…off. He had plenty of ideas; he just didn't feel like transferring them onto paper. He continued to sit at his desk anyway. A creative was nothing without discipline and he was going to sit there until he had at least one good sketch.

The bell above his door jingled signaling that Allen had a customer. He stood out of his seat, glad to have an excuse to get away from the paper. Until he saw the sickenly sweet, plastered on fake smile of Michelle that is. It was a rare sight to see her inside the salon. Probably because Allen was one of the few people who didn't fall for her innocent, goodie-two- shoes little girl act. She was nothing more than a conceited gold digger, a woman who used men for her own gain and nothing more. Allen would have no part in her little games.

"Why, hello, Allen! Don't you look nice on this wonderful winter day?" Michelle beamed.

"You can cut the crap, Michelle. I'm not playing along."

Michelle narrowed her eyes and her fake smile slipped off, "Ugh. Do you treat all of your customers so rudely?" Her voice had dropped a few octaves.

"Only the ones who deserve it."

"Hmm. Good for you," Michelle took a seat in front of Allen's desk, "Let me get right to the point of why I'm here then."

Allen sat back down too. He adjusted his glasses to get ready for business.

"I have a really important magic show coming up. And when I say important, I don't mean some silly little sideshow for this hick town. I mean a career changing one in the city."

"I thought you came here because you were tired of the demands of the city or whatever your excuse was?"

Michelle twirled her hair around her finger, "A woman's heart is an ever changing thing. And I was touring with the circus before, as you _don't_ seem to recall. I needed time to work on my solo act. Anyway, I need a new hairstyle for my performance. And I mean NEW. As in, never been seen on anybody else before. It needs to be spectacular! Awe inspiring!"

"I'm surprised you're not going to one of the big name stylists in the city."

"You're the best at what you do Allen. I'm not saying that to be nice. It's just a fact. Snow falls in winter, the stars shine at night, there is a phantom thief named Skye who is obsessed with curry, and you're the best hairstylist around."

Allen just nodded. He couldn't argue with that.

"To show you how serious I am about this, I'm willing to pay you 20,000G, 10,000 now and another when my hair is actually styled."

If it had been any other person, their eyes would have baulked at the sound of such a sum. But, this was Allen. He remained calm and professional on the outside. Inside, however, he felt pride that someone was willing to pay such a large amount for his art, even if that person was Michelle.

"When do you need it done by?" Allen grabbed the schedule at the side of his desk.

"The show is going to be on the Starry Night festival, so I'll be here early on the 25th for my styling. How does five AM sound?"

Grimacing, Allen penciled it in. Five AM was way earlier than he liked to get up, but he was being paid 20,000G to do it, so he couldn't really complain.

"So, do we have a deal, then?" Michelle extended her hand.

"Deal."

They shook on it.

"Do you have any specifics already in mind?" Allen asked as he grabbed his paper to take notes.

"That's your department, not mine," but Michelle thought for a moment anyway, "Maybe something like fireworks? Could you stick sparklers in my hair?"

"Not without setting you on fire. They would be dead by the time you reach the city anyway."

"Then I will defer to your judgment. Don't let me down. "

The next few minutes were spent taking photos of Michelle's face from as many angles as possible. Allen wanted to make sure that he got every contour right for such a big job. He also straightened out her curly hair in order to measure its full length and to see how much he had to work with. Michelle paid him the first 10,000G and soon Allen was left alone with his empty piece of paper again.

Allen stared down at the paper and grabbed his pencil with newfound determination. A job like this was just the thing to get his mind back into working order.

Three hours passed and he had yet to make a single mark on the paper.

Not that it was entirely his fault. Several customers came in during that interim. It was getting late and Allen decided to just call it a night. So maybe he had just had an off day in terms of creativity. It happened to everyone.

Two days went by and he had yet to come up with anything decent.

It wasn't for lack of trying. Allen had come up with several sketches within that time frame. Unfortunately they were all terrible and were all subsequently thrown into the waste basket on the other side of the room. It had gotten to the point where he was keeping score in his little game of waste bucket basketball. He currently had thirty terrible ideas in the basket and fourteen on the floor surrounding it.

Depressing was the only word Allen could think of to describe the situation. He just felt so… dispassionate. Part of him simply didn't care anymore and was ready just to give up being a hairstylist all together. The other part was absolutely terrified. Hairstyling was his life! What if he never had a good idea again? How could he go on living? What would be the point?

Allen felt his self-confidence draining away. He had never felt so low before in his life. He wasn't himself anymore. He had always been a very confident individual. Even as a child he took pride in everything that he did. He never had to work at perfection; it just came naturally to him. Now he was in a creative rut and had to find a way out of it fast. The Starry Night Festival was the day after the next.

As much as he hated to admit it, Allen needed some advice. And luckily for him he could think of three creative people who lived right there in Echo village: Dunhill the photographer, Hossan the writer, and Clement the chef. Allen grabbed his coat and ran out the door, glad to be out of the stifling atmosphere of the salon. Cold air blasted into his face and cleared some of his senses. He took a few moments to breathe it in and to calm down. He had no intention of letting anyone see him in a nervous wreck. When he felt ready he started walking.

The first person he came across was Dunhill conveniently enough. The older man was busy snapping a picture of the town fountain Hart built earlier that summer. The fountain's water was completely frozen in mid flow and gave off something of an abstract sculpture feel. Allen took note of it. It would take a lot of hairspray to transfer that look onto someone's head.

"Howdy there, Allen! How are you today," Dunhill greeted him when he noticed him standing there.

"I'm fine, thank you." Allen didn't want to get stuck in idle chatter, so he came right out and asked, "Say, what do you do when you're in a creative rut?"

"Pardon?"

"I have to create a new hairstyle very soon and every idea I have just doesn't work. As one creative person to another, do you have any advice?"

Dunhill thought for a moment. Finally he said, "It sounds like your problem might be lack of inspiration. I say the best thing to do is what you're doing right now, just taking a walk. Exercise helps the mind to wonder and all this winter scenery should spark a few ideas."

Lack of inspiration wasn't the problem, Allen knew that for a fact, but taking a walk and getting some exercise wasn't a bad idea. He thanked Dunhill and continued on. Hossan's inn was on the other side of town and was a respectable distance for a walk. Allen took his time and didn't find himself at the inn's door until half an hour later. He kicked the snow off of his shoes and walked in.

"Hello, Allen!" Hossan said as Allen walked in, "How may I help you today?"

After taking off his coat Allen reiterated his problem to the inn keeper. Hossan nodded as his listened.

"Your problem sounds very similar to something called writer's block. There is only one cure for it I'm afraid. You're just going to have to sit yourself down and force yourself to work, no matter how much you don't want too."

Allen just sighed. That was exactly what he had been doing for the past few days. Hossan had been no help at all, but he thanked him anyway and started walking to Clement's restaurant. It was between meal times, so the chef wouldn't be busy. Plus Michelle tried to only put on shows during rush hours, so there was very little chance of Allen running into her while he was there. A delicious smell greeted Allen as he walked inside.

"Hey, Allen," Felicity waved, "Thanks for doing my hair the other day. I've been getting so many complements on it!"

"It was my pleasure, Felicity," Allen adjusted his glasses, "Is Clement busy? I need to talk to him about something."

"He's just getting started on tonight's dinner special. Let me go get him."

Clement walked out of the kitchen a few moments later.

"So, how may I help you today, Allen?" he asked.

For the third time that day, Allen told his story.

"Hmm," Clement scratched his chin, "Well, I know that sometimes the best recipes are born out of throwing random things into a pot and seeing what happens. Maybe that works with hairstyles too? You could try taking bits and pieces from several different styles and mashing them together to see what you get."

Now that was an idea. Allen thanked him and ordered some tea to go. Soon Allen found himself back in front of his desk. He sipped his tea and got to work. After flipping through several notebooks of successful hairstyles he had come up with in the past he chose three of his favorite. He took the best parts of each and sketched together a brand new hairstyle!

Unfortunately, that hairstyle looked like it belonged on Frankenstein's monster.

Allen didn't even give the paper the justice of being crumpled up into a little ball. He tore it to shreds and threw it into the air like exasperated confetti. Slouching, Allen buried his face into his hands and groaned. That was it, the final straw. His career, and by extension life, were now over. He was now doomed to wonder the earth, an empty shell of the man he once was. He couldn't bear to look at the salon equipment that surrounded him. With a slam of his door, Allen found himself walking around Echo Village once again.

The sun was just starting to set and the evening light twinkled against the snow. The buildings casted shadows on the ground and the white paint glowed orange like the sky. A pile of snow sat precariously balanced on the cliff next to the festival grounds. Allen just tried to focus on the scenery and to ignore the dread growing in his heart. He watched as Neil and Rod packed up their shops and herded their animals away. For the first time in his life Allen found himself wishing that he had an affinity for animals or something useful like that. Neil and Rod never had to worry about losing their talent. Stock animals and pets would always need someone to take care of them. How wonderful it must feel to know that your job would always be there waiting for you when you woke up in the morning?

With a turn of his head, Allen looked in the opposite direction. He looked at each building as he passed it and noted the placement of each amenity dotted throughout the village. The reconstruction of Echo was coming along quite nicely. He had to hand it to Hart. Landscaping an entire village by yourself took a lot of talent. It would have to take a fair amount of creative genius to make every street look pleasing to the eye and yet be practical for traveling in as well…

Creative genius…

Hart! Allen had never even considered Hart! He pushed up his glasses and began to run towards the farmland. He was desperate at this point and knew that Hart would never let him live it down for asking for advice, but he had done everything else he possibly could and had to take whatever he could get.

Allen didn't even bother knocking on Hart's door. He rushed right into the farmhouse and found the farmer in question sitting at his table reading a book.

"Geez, Allen, where's the fire?" Hart laughed before seeing the distressed look on Allen's face. "Dude, did something happen? You look awful."

Groaning, Allen sat down across from him at the table. He glanced at the cover of Hart's book. It was an astronomy book written by some wizard in Castanet.

"Studying up for your date with Tina, I see?" Allen tried to smile.

"Yeah…" Hart let out a wistful, happy sigh, "I can't believe she said yes! I'm so excited!"

"I'm happy for you, my friend."

"Thanks!" Hart's smile slipped away and a more serious look crossed his face, "Now what's wrong, man? You look kinda…dead."

Allen sighed, "Well, that's one way of putting it."

"Explain. Now."

"I'm nothing but a talentless hack now!" Allen threw his arms into the air, "I haven't been able to come up with any new hairstyles for days now and I have an important project due for Michelle the day after tomorrow! I have no idea how to get out of this rut and I'm starting to contemplate why I should go on living if I no longer have my talent!"

Allen winced as he waited for Hart's response. He knew that Hart would probably take this opportunity to jokingly call him a 'Drama Queen,' and say "Oh how the mighty have fallen!"

Instead, Hart looked him straight in the eyes and simply asked, "Allen, what made you get into hairdressing in the first place?"

Taken back, Allen had to think for a moment, "Well, I've always been into fashion as a whole. My mother and sister, however, were absolutely hopeless. I tried to show them my fashion magazines, but they never bothered to try to dress up themselves. We were a pretty poor family since my jerk of a father abandoned us, so buying my mother and sister nicer clothes was out of the question. I could, however, style their hair for them," Allen smiled at the memory, "It made them really happy and soon the other women of our village began to take notice. Some kids have lemonade stands; I had a miniature salon business going on in my living room. The money I earned helped me to start my business here. It's weird, thinking back on it. I was completely self-taught. It's kind of thrilling to think that I reached my level of professionalism alone," Allen's face dropped again, "But none of that matters now. My talent is completely gone."

Hart tapped his fingers against the table, "I have a theory."

"Let's hear it by all means."

"Maybe it isn't so much the styling that you enjoy, but the act of helping people? You originally did it to help your mother and sister, right? And when your neighbors starting coming to you, it almost sounds like you were thrust into this career without a chance to try anything else. But you kept doing it anyway because you saw how happy it made everyone."

Allen just stared blankly at him.

"For instance, it was never my intention to LITERALLY rebuild the village when I came here. I just thought I would be taking over my father's farm and would be helping the village by shipping crops. As soon as Dunhill learned that I was good at constructing things however…" Hart sighed, "I actually hated doing the architectural work at first, but I've grown to love it because I see how happy it makes everyone."

Allen hated to admit it, but maybe Hart was right. Maybe his love of hair styling did brew from something similar. But it didn't change the fact that without the ability to create anything new he felt absolutely useless.

"What's your advice, Hart?" Allen asked.

"Hmm…Well, it doesn't sound so much like you've really lost your talent. It just sounds like you're burned out. Other than taking a break from it for a little while to let your creative fire rekindle itself, which you obviously can't do because of Michelle, I've got nothing."

For the second time that day, Allen buried his face into his hands. Great. Just great.

"I do have a few more words of wisdom though," Hart forced Allen to look at him, "A person is more than just their talent, Allen. For example, if my hands were to be cut off and I couldn't build or even farm anymore, I would still be Hart. Same with you. You would still be the same egotistical, drama king you've always been, wither or not you can style hair!"

"Hey!" Allen punched him in the arm.

Hart laughed, "I was only joking, dude! You would still be a valuable, helpful member of our community even if you hung up your hairdryer forever!"

Allen closed his eyes and breathed. He knew Hart was right, but he still didn't feel any better. Maybe he just needed time to let the words sink in? He would get this job done for Michelle and then? Well, he would just have to see where his life would take him.

He stood up to leave, "Thank you, Hart. I would really appreciate it if we kept this conversation between the two of us though."

"My lips are sealed!" Hart pulled an invisible zipper across his lips.

Allen went home, ate dinner, and slept.

Starry Night Eve dawned and Allen woke up late. He stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes before getting out of bed. This was it, the final day. He had to come up with something for Michelle no matter what it took.

An hour had barely passed when Hart came rushing into the salon.

"Allen!" Hart was laughing so hard he was hugging his sides, "The entire town is having a snowball fight at the festival grounds! Take a break and come join us!"

"Sorry, but I can't. It's crunch time. I have to focus all of my energy on designing this hair style for Michelle," Allen pushed his glasses up his nose.

"You know where to find us if you change your mind!" and Hart left.

It was a half hour later when Allen heard the thunderous sound, almost like an avalanche occurred nearby…

Without a second thought, Allen rushed out of his house and gasped when he saw a mountain of snow blocking the entrance to the festival grounds. He ran up as close as he could get. The worried cries for help could easily be heard on the other side of the snow pile.

"Is everybody okay?!" Allen called.

"Allen!" It was Hart's voice, "You need to get help!"

"Obviously! Who else in the village isn't in there?"

"Just you! When I said the entire town was joining in, I meant the ENTIRE town!"

"Drat! Do you have any way to dig yourselves out? Can you start a fire and melt the snow maybe?"

"That's a negative on the fire and we're all taking turns digging with our hands, but everyone is getting really, really cold!"

"I'll start some fires on my end! Hang in there everyone!"

There was no time to waste! Allen rushed around the village gathering kindling and wood and soon had three fires burning brightly in front of the festival grounds. The snow began to melt but not quickly enough. What he needed was something hotter than fire and all he could think of was the industrial grade hair dryers he had at the salon, but that was just silly. They had to be plugged into an electrical outlet anyway and would never reach anyhow.

"Hurry, Allen!" the village cried.

Silly or not, he was drawing a blank on anything else.

"Does anyone have some extension cords I could borrow?!" Allen called over the snow pile.

Instantly the townspeople began to call out the places where they kept the cords in their homes. Allen's sides burned from all the running, but he didn't slow down for one moment. He soon had a veritable armada of hairdryers lined up in front of the avalanche. It looked downright ridiculous, but it would have to work.

"Sorry, Dunhill, but you're going to have one heck of an electrical bill next month!" Allen plugged the cords into the nearest house, "You all may want to cover your ears! It's about to get loud!"

Allen put in his ear plugs and turned on each hair dryer one by one. I deafening blast of air roared forth from each one and within minutes the avalanche was nothing more than a muddy puddle in front of the festival grounds. Allen smiled and turned them all off with a flourish. The now freed residents of Echo Village gaped at him in amazement.

"People actually use those things ON THEIR HAIR?!" Toni the little boy gasped.

Everyone else surrounded him and cheered.

"You did it, dude!" Hart laughed.

"You're a hero!" Felicity cried.

Hero. Allen liked the sound of that. He breathed in the winter air and listened to the applause surrounding him. He felt renewed. Refreshed. He felt way better than he had for a long time. He was _Allen _after all. Just like he had told Hart a few days ago, "It's a tough job being this amazing, but somebody has to do it." He was back to his old self again!

As soon as the cheering died down he would go back to his salon and design the most glorious hairstyle ever conceived. Until the next one he designed that is…

But that was just splitting hairs.

_Author's Note: Happy Holidays, everyone! Review if you feel the urge to, unless you're Winter Oak who is required! :D_

_(Also, I'm sorry if trapping all of the villagers felt contrived. It's kinda my Secret Santa shtick now though. XD) _


End file.
